


Devil in the Streets, Plagued in the Sheets

by bluerosele



Series: Compromise [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (attempts at humor), Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Foggy Nelson Cares for Matt Murdock because Matt Murdock is bad at caring for Matt Murdock, Gen, Heal Him, Humor, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pining Foggy Nelson, Pining Losers, Pining Matt Murdock, Sick Matt Murdock, Sickfic, Sweaty Super Suits, he does not know how to do so himself, it's rubber Matt don't lie, please stop sneezing at the criminals Matt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerosele/pseuds/bluerosele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt saves the city every night, but can't save himself from the common cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil in the Streets, Plagued in the Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> what no this isn't self-serving fluff because I'm sick no what I'm not projecting you are. Written predominately on NyQuil due to aforementioned illness so I'm sorry.

Foggy has found Matt in some comprisable positions in his life. It comes with the territory of law school roommate/drinking partner/vigilante confidant (not Just Citizen Who Happens To Know Daredevil or God forbid, damsel in distress, Foggy will die before he’s reverted to damsel in distress status). As startling as those positions can be (like say, dramatic unmasking reveal of superhero best friend) they had at least been more expected than what was currently happening, including aforementioned dramatic unmasking reveal of superhero best friend. No, that had been, at its core, a Matt Thing To Do. Rolling around with his suit halfway up his legs, pathetically flailing against it, was not such a Matt Thing To Do.  

“Hey, buddy,” Foggy says, shuffling around to examine the room for any other threat besides the suit Matt’s antagonized. “Got your call?” And, maybe Foggy should’ve expected this (or, well, not _this_ per say but any other form of Matt malfunctioning) because for Matt to call in the middle of the night saying nothing but “help, help, my apartment, it won’t let go” before hanging up, Foggy had thought he was being murdered. Matt doesn’t ask for help, expect it seems, when his suit is attacking him. 

Matt stops struggling, and flips his head back towards Foggy’s voice. He smiles. He smiles half naked and flushed, and Foggy dies a little. 

“Foggy’s here, things are good now, woo _,_ ” Matt giggles, and holy shit what is happening right now? Considering its Matt, and how this behavior may constitute some kind of drug attack or fatal giggle poison or or any other Saturday morning cartoon plot Foggy’s life has become, Foggy doesn’t have time to laugh. Instead he says, “Woo, yes, let’s make things good now. What’s bad?” 

“Ev-er-y- _thing_!” Matt groans out each consonant, and shimmies his lower half to bring forward the suit as if to emphasize the fact that everything is awful, which hits him in the face. “It’s fighting me,” his sob is so defeated its impossible to not sympathize, despite what specific attack has befallen him. 

“Okay, so we’ll work on everything, after we battle the suit first?” Matt nods, somber. Foggy seeing no ninjas or drug lords or other such Matt Things in the shadows kneels next to him to fix this because it’s funny, yes, but Matt’s sad so it needs to go away. “So, wanna use your words and update me as to why the suit has stopped working?”

“I’m so sweaty, so, so sweaty. And so it—I don’t know it’s stuck because it’s—don’t say it’s rubber it’s not, whatever it is, not rubber. But it’s so sticky.” Matt writhes some more and there are things Foggy’s brain could say about this situation, Matt on the ground and mostly naked as Foggy assists in ripping off his clothes, but that would be inappropriate so Foggy promptly tells his brain to shut the fuck up and works with what he’s given. 

“Matt, the rubber suit is sticking to your sweat, you my friend are a walking BDSM joke, you literal horny devil you,” Foggy flicks the stupid little rubber horns on Matt’s mask, which not being connected to the rest of the suit around his legs, is still on his head. “When you’re able to argue without rubber spandex around your ankles, you can then defend the honor of the suit.” With a final tug Foggy’s able to yank away the suit, but he can only congratulate himself on this feat for so long because now Matt’s making the distressed sobbing groans again. “What, wait, no sad noises. Why the sad noises, I just beat your suit, technically I’ve vanquished the Daredevil, c’mon this is a big deal.” 

“Wrong way, wrong way!” Matt pops up, bringing himself forward to sitting position, before slouching into Foggy. “The suit needs to be on, I can’t be Daredevil-who-only-wears-a-mask-and-underwear, it wouldn’t be as intimidating.” 

Foggy’s about to say something about how pink spandex is only so much more intimidating, but with Matt this close he can feel the heat radiating off his skin even through Foggy’s shirt. “Jesus—sorry—but, man, you’re so hot, are you okay?” 

Matt giggles again (twice in one night, this is a record for the year), and makes his voice deep and gravely, makes his voice Daredevil, when he says, “why thank you,” before dissolving into a fit of giggles again. Okay, so Foggy walked into that one, but regular Matt doesn’t usually take advantage of those openings, that’s something Foggy does.  

“Dude, are you drunk? If you are, I’m pretty sure I have to report you are something. Friends don’t let friends go vigilante-ing when drunk. Isn’t that a rule?” Foggy tries to pull away, but Matt’s not having it so latches on which means he’s only so successful in his attempts. Pre-gaming (pre-vigilante-ing?) before saving Hell’s Kitchen from itself, doesn’t seem like something Matt would partake in but none of this is what Matt would partake in. The only other time Matt’s ever acted like this is—

“Oh my God—sorry—wait,” Foggy rotates them around so Matt’s facing him (still latching on), and takes off the mask. This time, though, there’s no exposed secret, just the face of a goofy grinned Matt, with a burning forehead, when Foggy places the back of his hand against it, and “Sick Matt!” Foggy shouts maybe too loud based on how Matt recoils. “Hello, old friend.” 

“Hello,” Sick Matt greets back, patting Foggy’s cheek, coughing for good measure to reveal that yes, Matt’s not dying of a mystery poison, he’s just regressed to one of Foggy’s favorite of Matt’s alter-egos, especially compared to the shriveled one behind them. “Long time no see,” Sick Matt laughs at his own joke and falls back down. Foggy had missed Sick Matt. 

There was only one other time Foggy had the luck to interact with Sick Matt, and it was three years ago when Matt almost studied himself to death for a particularly murderous set of finals, distracting his immune system from the collegial plagues that happened every late fall semester. It had just been a cold, but Matt’s reaction was Sick Matt, who is some glorious mix of Drunk Matt and Adorable Matt. 

But, because all Matts are Matt, even when Sick Matt, he sobers and points to his suit across the floor. Daredevil sucks like that. “No, but I need to figure out how to put it on.”

Foggy kicks the suit further away, and Matt hiccups a pathetic noise at the sound of it skittering away. “I cannot in good conscience, let you go out there like this. If Daredevil can’t dress himself, Daredevil can’t fight for himself. You’re sick, Matty.”

“Justice doesn’t take sick days,” Matt says, probably trying to sound brooding and purposeful but sneezes after, ruining the already lame effect. 

“Well, it does tonight,” Foggy says. “I shouldn’t have to explain to you why you can’t go out fighting crime when your body’s fighting itself. You’re going to sleep, I’m making you soup, you’re eating the soup, and then going back to sleep.” 

Matt glares in Foggy’s general direction and huffs, “No.” He crawls past Foggy, not without using his grip  on Foggy to push himself forward in momentum, falling over himself in front of the suit. The whole three seconds are just about the most pitiful moments Foggy’s experienced. Matt must realize this too.“Help me, please, Fog,” he says, hurting Foggy a little in how sad everything is right now. “I need to, I can use this. _Biological warfare_.” 

“The hero this city deserves everyone, coughing at criminals to get them moderately ill,” Foggy holds Matt’s wrist that’s reaching for the suit. New approach. “You’ll do more harm than good tonight, buddy. You might fall off a roof, again, and hit some innocent passerby, or help someone escape when Daredevil has a sneezing fit and distracts the police. You don’t want to do that to the city, do you?” 

Matt stops feeling around for the suit, stops holding himself up, and just deflates against the floor, shuffling into Foggy’s space again, following his hand. He shakes his head, curling against himself. Foggy pets his hair. “Cool. So, follow Foggy’s plan because, as you said, he’s here and things are good now?” 

Matt smiles, wide and trusting, and fully envelops himself around Foggy, who is just now again suddenly aware of Matt’s current state of dress (or undress) once again. “Right, then, phase one: find pajamas. Not ninja pajamas, actual comfortable clothes, you still own those?” 


End file.
